


not here. not anymore

by Misari



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), BAMF Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton Feels, F/M, Heavy Angst, Internal Monologue, Love your redheads, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Protective Natasha Romanov, She Deserved Better, Soliloquy to Natasha, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 16:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20799359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misari/pseuds/Misari
Summary: The only thing in her life Natasha wants more than anything





	not here. not anymore

**Author's Note:**

> There, there, have a handkerchief. I warned you.

> _Teach me to praise loss,  
death and the passing of all things–_
> 
> \- **Erica JONG**, FROM BECOMING LIGHT: NEW & SELECTED POEMS; “_TO THE GODDESS,”_

** **

The only thing in her life she wants more than anything

**.**

_give me your hand_

**.**

It´s hard to know when all started. When does life start, really? Is it when you take your first breath? Is it when you learn how to walk? Is it when you say your first words? Or is it when you remember? When you kill for the very first time? Or maybe when someone who knows the worst of you, who has_ seen _the worst, simply looks at you and says to you _are you coming or not_ and gives you a chance, a choice, a lifeline, a new path, whatever you decide, is okay? Natasha is not sure. She doesn’t believe in them, in starting points. (What the fuck is that, anyway.) Sounds too much like a fictional story from a novel, like a fairy-tale. There are not fairy-tales in the real world. Then the prince kissed the princess; bah, in the real world the prince usually kills the princess. Or worst. It´s hard to know when all started because Clint is always there, by her side, watching her back, covering her flank, protecting her from the… world. _I don’t need that, Clint _(I don’t need you, she doesn’t say)_. _And his radiant smile, his infuriating, flirting, I-know-all-of-your-secrets smile. _‘Course you don´t, genius. I’m doing it for reassurance. A favour for a favour, you know. _Natasha is not sure when all of _this _started. _I have to protect my future. _This pounding of the heart. This shortness of breath. This trembling of limbs. This sensation like being smashed into tiny little pieces and being throw away to the ocean. This Beginning.

**.**

_close your eyes_

**.**

Maybe the answer is simple. She just has to imagine the starting point. She has to remember, to create, even if she doesn’t want to, even if it’s a sin (what can be more sinful for a Bringer of Death than wish for Life?): the first time Clint spoke to her; not Hawkeye, but _Clint_. The sun behind darkness, the shadows dancing their mad Iliad on the floor, an arrow pointing right into her heart, a breath being swallowed into the deeps of silence. Two pairs of eyes, two pairs of hands, two tics, two tocs, two mouths and two souls. Beating. Biting. Everything comes with a pair and tunes out the world. Sh, shh, time to dream. A moment suspended forever in eternity, a voice who spoke whispering: _Natasha, right? That’s your name? _A cup of coffee without sugar on her desk —bitter like you, ha—, an invitation to have dinner after training like fucking war-dogs because she needs to have a life outside of work and _me too_, _darling,_ a stupid joke and her own laughter echoing in the night. The first time Clint saved her life; Clint again and not Hawkeye. (It seems is never, ever Hawkeye but that man with the infuriating smile stitching his stupid face). She’s not even in battle, she’s not fighting for her life, she’s not _killing. _She just wants to die so badly. Please, please, whatever the fuck is out there, let me die, she pleas. Natasha had never pleaded. Today is different, today she brings her knees to the floor and her forehead to the dirt and calls it, him, her. Maybe she wants to summon it. She deserves it. Eyelashes fluttering; and then there’s Clint, kneeing on the floor too, on the dirt, smashing the demons, dirtying himself with her, bringing life, bringing hope. Pleading. Speaking.

Speaking those horrible words:

You don’t have to die, ‘Tasha. Please, come with me.

**.**

(She fucking does. Natasha goes with him. Takes his hand. Drinks his words. Sleeps beside him. Dreams not with hands splashed with blood, but with hope. With the promise Clint made to her. Hope.)

**.**

_just one more step_

**.**

Or maybe there are not answers. There are not wrongs or rights. Or starting points. Maybe there’s life and death and everything its in-between. The sky on Earth. The stars on Vormir. The Avengers building full of life. The stillness of space. The bickering of everyone because it’s too damn early to be up and having a stupid meeting, we need breakfast thank you very much. The unnerving sound of the ship drifting into the unknown, the awe-inspiring contemplation of the vastness of the galaxy in juxtaposition of human life, so small-scale, so insignificant, so close of being nothing. Maybe there’s this man, not very tall, not very clever when he tells jokes, not very clever, full stop, an extremely good fighter, a better archer, a good partner, a beautiful human being with a huge heart, magnanimous, bigger than the mayor cities of the world, of the entire fucking galaxy, and maybe this man is everything she didn’t know existed in reality —it’s was a simple fairy-tale, simple and petrifying—, this man is everything Natasha didn’t want to believe: a companion, a friend, a brother, a lover, a husband. Everything, to her.

“I’m not worth it, Clint”.

And his face, his face does that complicating expression between pure despair and cold exasperation, and looks far away, passes her into the abyss.

“Don’t say things like that”.

“Or what?” She needs to push. Push enough and maybe one day he will realise who is she, what is she. Push enough and she will fall.

Clint looks at her. “Or I will have to love you more”.

**. **

Maybe yes, there’s one beginning. The Beginning. But if there’s one beginning it only means there’s and end. One end too. _The_ End. And maybe, only maybe, she’s not ready to welcoming it. To let it go. To let Clint and the Avengers, and the sky, and the Earth, and the breakfasts and the meeting and the talks and the jokes and the words and the coffes without sugar and everything its in-between go. To let that sweet-crying touch of foreheads burn it out. I don’t. I want— (And maybe, only, possibly, perhaps, perchance, for all one knows it’s Time. Tick-tack. Game over. She needs to say goodbye).

**. **

_we’re ready now. i am ready_

**.**

The earth rising to meet her. The wind singing halleluiah. A good spot to close the eyes and go to sleep, to dream of an ol’ good promise, the hope melting like poisoning honey. Welcome, welcome, Natalia, it claims, welcome to the rest of your life. Yes, yes, she says, its way pass the time. But there’s one thing that is not clicking right. His voice. Clint’s voice. Screaming in agony. Shouting. Shouting something gruesome, something holy. Crying her— ah. Yes, it’s time to say goodbye, even if she doesn’t want to. May it would be easy. (It is not, to wish but not have).

_That´s… that is not my name. My name is—_

‘Tasha.

Yes, Natasha.

**.**

The only thing

_(To live… by your side)_

_…_

_…_

**Author's Note:**

> Dear children, english is not my firs language and this is my first so be kind.  
See you soon (I hope).


End file.
